The Journey to Israel

The trip from Moscow to Israel for Russia's emigrating Jews includes a two-day train trip or three-hour flight to Vienna, a 24-hour layover there for processing by Israeli immigration officials, and finally another three-hour flight to Israel. For those who make the journey, often after months or years of waiting, it is very close to being a religious experience, as TIME Correspondent Marlin Levin discovered last week when he boarded a refugee train at the Austrian border village of Hohenau.

WE are going to Israel without a stop./We have to forget what happened at Chop." A rabbi at the Schoenau processing center, in a 12th century castle outside Vienna, sometimes croons this and other homemade balalaika ditties to Russian wayfarers in order to ease the tension. Chop is a town on the Soviet-Hungarian border through which some of them passed by train. It was the scene of their last encounter with Russian officials, and one of the least pleasant.

"The Russian customs men--may their names be forgotten--tore the sable collar off my coat and kept it," complains a middle-aged woman from Odessa. Another woman protests that Soviet guards pried the stones from her rings; with a cold laugh, a companion says that they took her rings altogether. Still another woman describes an internal examination by a doctor searching for valuables or "papers." The departing Jews have already paid $560 each in rubles in order to renounce Soviet citizenship and $448 more for new travel documents. When they complain of delays, the guards snarl, "Zhidovskaya rnorda [kike face]. For us, you people are not even human beings."

After such treatment, the travelers are wary and withdrawn when they arrive in Austria. "They're easy to spot," says an Israeli official in Vienna. "They always ride the last two cars. But if you have any doubts, just call out 'Shalom aleichem [peace be with you].' "

The emigrants are there in the overheated rear coaches, smelling of the garlic, goat's cheese, cooked eggs and potatoes that nourished them through the 1,240-mile trip from Moscow. "The air in here is not too fresh," says David Fish, 45, building engineer from Vilna. "But now it is free, and it is good to breathe free air." The Soviet trainman sighs. "I don't understand why Jews must leave Russia," he says. "We live well together." Another traveler, a landscape architect, explains with mock seriousness: "You see, in Russia it is very cold. But in Israel it is very warm, and Jews like warmth."

When the processing in the old castle near Vienna is over, the groups are bused to Vienna's Schwechat Airport for a night flight to Israel. Every seat in the plane is quickly filled; as it rolls down the runway, some emigrants recite the traditional prayer for a safe journey. One man cries out, "Shema, Yisrael, Adonay Elohenu Adonay Ehad [Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God. the Lord is One]."

Aloft, only the children can sleep. German Mazin, 60, of Odessa, has waited 35 years for this night. "This is Israeli territory," he says. "So please now address me by my Hebrew name 'Gershon' instead of 'German.' "

As the sun comes up over Israel, the steward makes an announcement: "You are now over Tel Aviv. Blessed be your coming." The 707 wheels, dips and lands lightly; as it does, the passengers burst into applause and patriotic Hebrew songs. "God bless Golda Meir," shouts an exuberant Georgian. Gershon Mazin sings an old Zionist song, Peace to you, O Jerusalem.

Mazin studies a Lod Airport sign and says, "This is reality. This is not a dream. No, it cannot be true. This must be a film. It just isn't real. It just isn't real." Walking toward the desks where processing will be completed, he pauses and grabs his wife's arm. "Look, there," he says. "That man in uniform. He's a Jewish policeman."

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